


Two, Plus One

by snakeling



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Multi, Plot What Plot, Threesome, Threesome - Slash, Urethral Sounding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-06
Updated: 2008-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-07 04:36:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snakeling/pseuds/snakeling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snape's and Draco's presence in his home leads to one discovery after another, for Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two, Plus One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cnary_crm_dght](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=cnary_crm_dght).



Harry still doesn’t know how he feels about Malfoy’s presence in his house. Or maybe it’s not so much Malfoy’s presence as it is what he gets up to with Snape when he’s here.

Not that Harry can begrudge Snape anything, especially after the way the Wizengamot treated him. Honestly, locking him away, like some kind of criminal. And Harry resents, a bit, the role of jailer he is forced to play, even if he did take it on voluntarily, even if he does his best not to make Snape feel like a prisoner.

Hence Malfoy’s presence.

At first, it wasn’t so bad. Snape was badly injured, recovering and sleeping the day away. Malfoy mostly spent his days by Snape’s bedside, reading or talking to him; then later, helping him with his muscle exercises with a patience Harry wouldn’t have believed Malfoy possessed.

But now. Now Snape is better than ever, and Harry knows that when Snape and Malfoy disappear for a couple of hours every afternoon, it isn’t for a recuperative nap. For one thing, no one groans like that during a nap.

The first time Harry hears it, he thinks that Snape is in pain, in need of help. He is about to knock on the door when Malfoy lets out a long moan, in which he can vaguely distinguish the words “yes” and “god”. Harry blushes to the roots of his hair and retreats to the living room.

And now that the image has entered his mind, it just won’t stop playing: Malfoy on his back, his legs around Snape who pounds into him, his hair falling in a curtain around his face as he bends to kiss Malfoy. Harry finds himself unexpectedly hard, cock straining against a hand he doesn’t even remember placing there.

Harry flees to his own bedroom. It is on the other side of the building, so it can only be Harry’s imagination that has him hearing Malfoy’s and Snape’s groans and cries, the wet sound of flesh on flesh. He barely takes the time to unbutton his jeans before taking his cock in hand, and a few pulls are enough to make him come, stronger and harder than any orgasm he can remember.

It takes a long time for him to recover, slumped in the wreckage of his clothes, cooling come all over his hand, his tee-shirt, even the floor.

* * *

From that moment on, Harry always finds an excuse to walk past Snape’s bedroom door when he knows they’re both inside. He feels ashamed of being reduced to voyeurism, but he is eighteen, and his sex life so far has consisted of several frantic kisses and gropes, and a probably unhealthy relationship with his right hand.

So, he creates elaborate fantasies around Malfoy and Snape and wanks to them. He doesn’t know why. Harry hasn’t really been attracted to men before, and those two are hardly prizes. A surly, temperamental, contrary man who takes pleasure in baiting Harry until he feels like hexing him to shut him up, and a cowardly, pointy-faced boy with has a callous disregard for human life that Harry just can’t forgive. And yet, he spends much of his waking hours — and some of the sleeping ones, too, judging by the state of his sheets in the morning — imagining them together.

In Harry’s fantasies, Malfoy is always on the bottom, his pert little arse pierced by Snape’s huge cock — Harry cannot imagine Snape as anything other than huge; what this says about him he prefers not to know. Malfoy’s awfully good at begging, asking to be fucked, nicely at first, then more and more forcefully as he loses his composure. Snape always obliges, but always in his own time. He appears oblivious to Malfoy’s needs, yet Malfoy doesn’t seem to mind, in the end.

The fantasies sustain Harry for weeks, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get the courage to take them further, or act on them, or just go to a gay bar and pick someone to lose his virginity to. It’s just as well, then, that Malfoy one day turns to Harry as he’s leaving, and says, in a commanding voice that Harry has never heard nor expected of him, “Stay, Harry.”

Harry looks at them, Snape, sitting ramrod straight on the sofa, a look of hunger on his face that Harry realises is aimed at him; Malfoy, watching him with half-lidded eyes and beckoning him with a finger. Biting his lips, Harry hesitates, before walking to Malfoy, who turns him and pushes him towards Snape until he’s standing very close to the sofa Snape’s sitting on. Snape spreads his legs and pulls Harry even closer, flush against his body, his mouth hovering barely inches from Harry’s cock.

Behind him, Malfoy stands up and moulds himself against Harry’s back. Pressed between those two men, Harry’s never been so aroused in his life.

“You want us both, don’t you?” Malfoy whispers in his ear.

Harry nods a little jerkily. Snape has buried his nose in Harry’s groin, rubbing his face against the stiff material of his jeans, and Harry’s busy trying not to come.

“You’re in luck, then. Severus wants you, too.” He gathers Harry’s hands in the small of his back before trapping them between their bodies. “And what Severus wants, he gets.”

Then two things happen at once. A smallish wooden box flies into the room, and Harry’s clothes disappear. There is something undeniably erotic about being the only one naked, but it’s also unsettling and leaves Harry feeling vulnerable, which he doesn’t like.

To his disappointment, Snape leans back as soon as the clothes disappear. Harry tries to pump his hips, though his range of movement, plastered as he is against Malfoy, is very limited.

“Let’s get clear about something. This is all about Severus’s pleasure. Mine and yours are secondary. Is that clear?”

Harry lets out a breathy “Yes”.

“Good. Severus, prepare Harry.” There it is again, this note of steel in Malfoy’s voice. Harry always imagined Malfoy as the bottom in their relationship, but it seems he may have shot wide of the mark in that instance.

Certainly Snape doesn’t object to either the tone or the order. He opens the small box and takes out a short strap of leather. Expertly, he wraps it around Harry’s cock and balls without touching them and fastens it. It’s tight, cutting off blood — which Harry supposes is the point — and leaves a dull ache in his groin that isn’t nearly as unpleasant as it should be.

Next Snape takes out a small jar and unscrews it. There is some sort of pearly white cream inside. He sets the jar beside himself and searches again in the box for the most bizarre thing Harry has ever seen.

Made of a golden metal, it’s a straight thin stalk, around three inches long. On one end there is a ball, slightly bigger in diameter than the stalk; on the other end it curves in a circle with the stalk as its axis, to finish in a small snake’s head, with two emeralds for eyes.

“What’s this?” Harry whispers.

“Cock-plug,” Malfoy answers. “You’ll like it. More to the point, Severus loves it.”

Snape scoops a dollop of cream with the ball end. Harry looks at it a little apprehensively, especially when Malfoy’s grip on his body tightens. Snape takes Harry’s cock firmly, rubbing his thumb on the drop of clear liquid that appears on the tip. Harry lets out a shuddery breath; it’s the first time anyone has touched his cock, and it feels more heavenly than he’d imagined. Snape uses the plug to spread the cream on his cock-head.

The pressure on the sensitive skin is as much pain as it is pleasure, making him want to squirm, although he can’t do much of that in his position.

Snape circles the end of the plug over and over around the head of Harry’s cock, passing over the slit, letting it dip a few millimetres inside before continuing the circling motions. Harry’s head drops to his chest; he has trouble keeping his eyes open, even though he doesn’t want to miss anything Snape does to him.

Slowly, Snape slides the straight end of the plug inside Harry’s cock. It feels huge, even though Harry knows for a fact that it isn’t. It’s the weirdest feeling he has ever experienced, a bit like masturbating from the inside, and it leaves him panting with arousal. The cock-ring is cutting into his engorged cock, and climax seems at once very close and unattainable.

Snape is still sliding the metal plug in and out, gaining a few centimetres every time, until it is all the way in, the circle part resting where the head of his cock joins the staff, the snake a lovely ornament on it.

Malfoy releases him suddenly — only Snape’s hands keep Harry from stumbling — and transfigures the sofa Snape is sitting on into a very large bed.

“On the bed, on your knees, hands behind your back.”

In any other situation, Malfoy’s orders would make Harry bristle and refuse them, but here and now he is all too eager to obey. Walking is a bit awkward, and he feels decidedly strange being the only one naked, but it doesn’t look as if it’ll be for much longer.

Snape starts undoing Malfoy’s buttons and laces, folding each garment carefully as he removes it. Malfoy, naked, is everything Harry had imagined: aristocratic grace and long, lean lines. His cock is nestled in curls so pale they’re almost transparent, and Harry is suddenly filled with the need to feel and smell and taste what promises to be a feast for the senses.

Instead, it is Snape who leans forward and kisses Malfoy’s hardening cock. His movements are slow and deliberate, more like the worshipping of a god than the satisfaction of this basest of urges. Snape takes Malfoy’s cock in his mouth, and without pausing, slides his lips down the whole length of it. Harry nearly whimpers at the sight.

Malfoy lets him for a few seconds, then pushes him away gently.

“Enough. Take off your clothes, now.”

Snape obeys, and isn’t it the weirdest thing ever? In fact, Harry realises he hasn’t said anything since Malfoy asked him to stay. Their dynamics aren’t anything like Harry expected, and it’s throwing him for a loop. Well, it would, if most of his higher brain functions hadn’t shut down.

Harry looks on avidly as Snape disrobes, unhurried and efficient. It isn’t a show done to arouse, but that doesn’t matter to Harry. Every inch of skin that is uncovered is an invitation to explore that he wants to accept.

Harry looks at Malfoy, but neither man has any attention for him. Harry feels neglected and a little silly, kneeling naked and alone on the bed when Malfoy is kissing Snape passionately.

Malfoy steps back.

“Severus, lie down in the middle of the bed. Harry, get on all fours above him, facing the other way, your knees near his hips.”

Harry takes a few seconds to unravel the logistics before obeying. He wonders what Malfoy means to accomplish with the position; not that he’s complaining, as it puts him very close to Snape’s cock. It’s... well, ugly, because genitals aren’t particularly pretty parts of the body, but it suits Snape. It’s not as huge as he’d imagined it, not very long, not very thick, but big enough for someone who’s never had sex, and Harry is torn between the need to take it inside him and the fear that it will hurt dreadfully.

Snape puts a hand on his hip and with the other, takes some of the cream and smears it around Harry’s arsehole. Harry has never even put a finger there when wanking, and the sensation takes a little getting used to. The finger feels larger than it really is, and Harry wonders how he’ll be able to accept more.

Snape cants his hips little higher, and Harry realises that Malfoy is about to perform the same act on Snape. He watches, fascinated, as Malfoy immediately pushes two fingers inside Snape. Of course, Snape is used to it, and he pushes against them, trying to urge Malfoy, not that Malfoy is letting him.

Snape adds a finger to the one Harry already has in his arse, and Harry turns his attention back to what Snape is doing. To his surprise, he doesn’t feel more than a slight burn, and the sensation is almost pleasurable. He yelps in half-surprise, half-ecstasy when Snape touches something inside that makes him see stars. His body trembles all over and he’s panting as Snape’s fingers insist on that spot inside him. He desperately wants to come, but he _can’t_, and in this moment he hates the other two for reducing him to this state.

Then Snape takes his fingers away and Harry has to bite his tongue to keep himself from begging. Someone speaks, but he can’t hear for the rush of noise in his ears. His nipple is pinched painfully, and it helps the haze to clear; Harry manages to focus on Malfoy.

“Turn around.”

Harry looks at him, uncomprehending; Snape snorts.

“Do you want to come, Harry? Then _turn around_.”

It isn’t easy, with both Snape’s and Malfoy’s bodies in the way, and his cock bobbing rigidly before him, but with some concentration and a great deal of manhandling on Malfoy’s part, Harry finally manages to get it right.

He squats over Snape, Malfoy directing Snape’s cock to his hole, Snape holding him by the hips so he doesn’t get a chance to slide down however much he wants to. His hands go to grip Snape’s, to force him to push him down. Snape lets him and Harry, at last, feels the cock breach him. It is so much bigger than Harry thought, too big, and surely it will tear him in two and —

And the head of Snape’s cock pops in and Harry doesn’t feel so much like breaking. He continues to sink down slowly, feeling every millimetre as it enters him, until he is as far down as he can go. Snape releases one of his hips to toy with the plug stuck in his cock.

It burns a little, but it’s a good burn, the kind that has him wanting more. Harry can barely keep coherent thoughts in his head when Snape pulls the plug out completely then pushes it back in a swift motion. The double sensation of fullness has him panting for breath.

An arm wraps around his middle from behind, and Snape gasps suddenly, arching his back as his hands fall down from Harry’s hips to the bedsheets and grips them, hard enough to whiten his knuckles.

Still keeping Harry tight against himself, Malfoy shifts, the movement also provoking a sort of roll where Harry is joined with Snape. It feels too good for words, and Snape seems to agree, judging by his moans. Malfoy laughs quietly in Harry’s ear, and pushes forward again.

Harry lets himself be moved by Malfoy, drowning in the raw sensations he is experiencing for the first time. Nothing has ever come close to comparing, and it is enough to make him forget — temporarily, at least — that Malfoy and Snape are using him, and that for them he is little more than a sex toy and barely more sentient.

Malfoy whispers in Harry’s ear, “Fuck yourself on Severus’s cock.”

He releases Harry, who tentatively moves his hips up. He can feel Snape’s cock pulling out of him, the penetration shallower than when Malfoy directed their movements. It brushes against something, probably the same place as earlier, and Harry moans.

He slams back down, groaning at the renewed sensation of fullness. A long, hissed “Yes” answers him. Harry looks at Snape with pride: it’s the first thing he’s heard him say since they started. And he was the one to get it out of him! Harry feels a little giddy at that, a little less overlooked.

He starts building a rhythm, trying to get more sounds out of Snape. Behind him Malfoy is still pounding into Snape, and Harry can’t be sure who exactly is responsible for Snape’s loss of control, but he’s willing to work with Malfoy for that sort of result.

Snape is putty in their hands. His head is thrown back, an ecstatic expression on his face; his body shines with sweat. Harry can tell how much he wants to come, and yet he doesn’t, even though he has none of the restraints Harry is wearing.

Then Malfoy touches Snape’s arm and says, “Come, Severus.”

Snape lets go, biting his lips, his entire body becoming rigid as warmth floods Harry’s arse. Behind him, Malfoy stops moving, and Harry is almost completely sure he’s come, too.

He watches in fascination as Snape’s face goes slack and he relaxes in the afterglow. Malfoy is panting against his shoulder, his arm still a vice around Harry’s midriff.

Harry is aching with the need to come and the certainty that they’ve forgotten him. He wants to leave but can’t. Swallowing back his disappointment, he reaches for his cock, but Snape knocks his hand away.

Malfoy releases him, his hands moving to stroke Harry’s bare skin and tease his nipples. They feel tight and sensitive, and the sensations Malfoy rouses shoot straight to his groin.

At the same time, Snape strokes a nail along Harry’s cock. His touch is light, certainly not meant to hurt. Harry arches between the hands tormenting him, his own hands flailing and grabbing what they can reach, thighs, he thinks, though he has no idea whose.

Snape grabs the long plug inside his cock and pulls it out, slowly, setting every single nerve of Harry’s on fire, until the little ball at the end slides free and Harry feels emptier than he’s ever been.

A hand wraps, warm and sure, around his cock while another tugs at the scrap of leather around it. It comes loose at the same moment as Malfoy whispers in his ear, “Come now, Harry. Come for us.”

And with a strangled cry, Harry does.

Harry’s orgasmed plenty of times before, but always at his own hand. Not even the most elaborate wanking session can compare to the onslaught of new experiences to which Malfoy and Snape have just subjected him. Harry finds his universe lurching while stars burst out before his eyes. He’s not sure he remembers how to breathe, and he’s quite sure he wouldn’t know how to move beyond the automatic jerky movements generated by his orgasm.

Every touch is magnified ten-fold: the hand on his cock coaxing the last remnants of his orgasm out of him; the one on his nipples, still worrying them to the point where he doesn’t know whether to push into the touch or evade it.

When Harry comes back to his senses, he is sitting between Snape and Malfoy, held on both sides. His nose is buried in the crook of Snape’s neck. Over his shoulder, Snape and Malfoy are kissing, totally oblivious to the man they’re both embracing. Harry looks at them, a little envious, then decides he wasn’t sorted in Gryffindor for nothing.

He turns his head and boldly dives for their mouths. It’s a little awkward, because human faces aren’t designed for three-way kisses, and Harry isn’t quite sure how to do it, or whether it’s even possible, but he doesn’t let that stop him.

He bumps his nose against a warm cheek, licks at the corner of a mouth, and suddenly they shift and he’s sharing both of them, their tongues sliding against the other two, over two sets of lips, two sets of teeth. Harry is quite sure he’s going to get a crick in his neck if he keeps this up, but he wouldn’t stop for the world.

Whimpering a bit when Malfoy and Snape draw away, Harry lets go, aware that this is likely the moment of reckoning, when they push him through the door to be alone together again. He tenses, resolved to react gracefully, even though he’s unwilling to let them go.

It’s not that he fancies himself in love with either of them. He’s not _that_ emotionally unaware. It’s simply that he’s completely in _lust_ with them and he’s just been shown a world of delights beyond anything his imagination has ever managed to cough up on its own.

“What do you say?” Malfoy is addressing Snape, ignoring Harry.

Snape’s hands ghost down Harry’s flank in a fleeting caress.

“Pliant, enthusiastic, quick to learn. He’ll do.”

Harry frowns. Malfoy licks his ear with the tip of his tongue. He whispers, “So, Harry. Do you want to be our third?”

Harry turns to look at him, then back at Snape. There are a thousand reasons why he should refuse: Wizarding society tends to frown on same-sex pairs, let alone trios; Ron will kill him; he’s still not sure where he stands with Snape and Malfoy, whether they will be three, or only two plus one.

In the end, all these reasons don’t matter: he’s been sacrificing his own happiness for too long and he rather think he has earned the right to be selfish once in a while. And even if he’s not, right now, an integral part of what Snape and Malfoy have... well, he’ll just have to convince them.

Harry curls his hands around the napes of those men of his and pulls them towards him. Against their lips, he whispers, “Yes.” This time, he is the one who takes control of the kiss.


End file.
